All Things Must Pass. — George Harrison

The public is clamoring for an appearance so extricate myself from seclusion I shall …

My mouth is full with words unexpressed.

My heart is heavy.

My fears about being able to the rent are held in check at the moment after arranging for unemployment. This occasion is far better than the previous bout of unemployment, where my dickhead employer contorted into unnatural positions to get out of paying. This occasion, there's no cause for concern. The family is a class act.

I'm in a funk. The shock and numbness are lifting, exposing grief and loss reaching far past the job mechanics. It would not be a stretch to say my heart is broken (through no one's fault or wrongdoings). Perhaps I can articulate better later.

Yesterday arrived the rain as I was cleaning out and tidying up my storage closet before turning in my keys that have given me passage into buildings I love and apartments known intimately by my hands, feet and heart. Turning over the keys was a vivid and visceral action signaling the end of my time with the family. My heart did stir and wrench a bit, it did.

I retrieved my final paycheck; felt the hard bite knowing there would be no more soon.

Each day is another day of processing; each has its unique character, feel, color, taste, vibration.

The evening 24 hours after the news was the sharpest and most poignant, for the shock was beginning to wear off and reality sink in. I was glad to be in the company of pals but was solemn and silent and not too social.

In the hours immediately after being laid off, and knowing beer wouldn't cut it, I was at the liquor store for a bottle of Old Overholt rye whiskey.

It's not a store I visit often. I was brought back to the visit to the same store five months prior, also during a workday late afternoon interrupted by the sudden and shocking (skydiving) death of my boss, Rex. It was for Bombay Sapphire — it could be no other, it was his favorite gin — for sharing with my workmates in a toast to a great spirit that he is. The whiskey, however, is for me alone. Symon, who has no taste for alcohol, says he'll make an exception and share one.

My heart truly is heavy with grief from his passing and that of my job. Truth is, though these be hard times, I'd rather feel grief and mourning at the loss of a job and people I love than the jubilation of losing a job I detest. Which is most prior and I know that feeling well.

I thirst for water and music and time alone secluded from the world. The latter I can do to dangerous levels, so today I'm going to lift myself up and go down to the water. I need the tears to flow. To shake off the depression that's grabbed hold of my heels like a stubborn bulldog. And to let also flow the love and respect and admiration I have for Rex and his family and affection for my coworkers. To do this is to honor my self and them and the blessings and goodness brought into my life through them.

The words suddenly stopped. This is all for now.

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